


Everlasting

by bridgeburningbucky



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Slow Build, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, guilt ridden bucky, tumblr writing challenge, who's too trusting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bridgeburningbucky/pseuds/bridgeburningbucky
Summary: The Winter Soldier breaks into the readers home just as he's breaking out of Hydra's conditioning. A love story about two people. Her falling in love with no regrets and him selflessly allowing himself to love and be loved.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 28
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had this story in my drafts since May 2019 and it wasn't until the lovely @ [Writingsoftheloser](https://writingsoftheloser.tumblr.com/) hit 1.5k on tumblr and made this lovely writing challenge that I was inspired to finish it! I loved the idea of using flowers to inspire stories. I picked 'everlasting flowers' because I'm a sucker for the idea of love being infinite. I really hope you love this Vi ❤️
> 
> Also, going to change up the timeline a bit (or maybe a lot lol) so the story makes more sense. Bucky never goes to the museum and learns about Steve or about himself. This means the events of the winter soldier will occur like four months before Infinity War BUT Bucky will still be called to help out in the fight at Wakanda and sadly the events of End Game still occur.

Pulling into the driveway of her childhood home, she cringes looking up at how dark the house looks compared to the bright lights that can be seen from the two houses on either side of her. They are about three miles between each house, but anyone would think she’s some kind of grinch. She hadn’t had the time or the help to put up the lights and the countdown to Christmas is getting shorter and shorter by the days. She thought back to how easy it was when she would just look up one day after school and her dad had managed to wrap the house in lights while she was gone. Now, she comes home to an empty, grinchy house. Which reminds her that she hasn’t called her parents today, her daily phone call forgotten in-between all the sugar highs and wrapping paper at work. She _really_ feels like the grinch as she walks up to the big maroon front door.

She closes the door and turns the lock, leaning her forehead against the frame of the door and lets out a tired sigh. The temperature dropped as the day got later and being in the warm comfort of her own home always feels like a much-needed breath. Especially since she had to deal with small, energetic children all day. It being the last day of school before Christmas break she threw a party for her kindergarten class. Her 28 little munchkins were looking forward to it all week and the anticipation for white elephant had the kids bouncing off the walls. 

One kid who literally bounced off the wall with excitement had to be sent to the nurse’s office. And only two kids threw up from eating too many sweets. She was also able to prevent an argument from happening during the gift exchange. Other than those small incidents, the day had been… a success

Another success was bringing home a full case of Christmas themed cupcakes that she can’t wait to eat throughout the weekend, if not this same night. Besides that, the only thing getting her through the day was the thought of coming home and running a bath while eating the sugary treats she managed to snatch.

Finally turning away from the door, she felt for the light switch to illuminate the dark living room when a dark figure caught her eye. Freezing in place, her heart began to race, and she fought the scream that wanted to escape her. 

With only the small light coming in from the window where the single seat sat in front of, she saw the silhouette of a man. There was a man. Sitting on her reading chair. Fuck. 

She slowly lowers her hand off the light switch and reaches for her phone inside her purse. Surprise: she left it in the car. Double fuck. She reaches for the next best thing which is the pepper spray attached to her keychain. 

The intruder doesn’t seem to care that she’s intruded in his creepy time apparently because he hasn’t moved since she’s discovered him. He’s definitely unfazed by the way her breathing has turned heavy. Her back is against the front door, ready to bolt out in case he comes towards her, and with as much confidence as she can muster, she raises her voice nice and steady, "I won't call the police if you just leave now." 

No reaction. 

"I have no money here, but you can take anything in the house."

Still no reaction. 

Confidence faltering and adrenaline coursing through her veins dwindling, she lets out a soft, " _Please._ "

The man turns and leans forward until he finds her eyes through the dark. The light coming from the front porch window casting a slight shadow on his face now that he’s come forward. His hair covers the sides of his face and it looks like he’s not had a shower in weeks. There is dried sweat and dirt on his face but the thing that she notices the most is the pleading look in his eyes, like a caged animal, and his breath coming out in shallow huffs.

A moment of just staring at each other and she’s waiting for the moment he’s had enough of the silence and attacks her. But he never does. He doesn’t look like he’s going to make a single move, he’d probably have her in this stand off all night. With every fiber in her telling her not to make a sudden move, she breaks and a wave of motherly instinct washes over her, “Oh sweetheart, what's your name?"

No reaction but he turns away from her, his hair falling to hide what little of his face she can see. 

She slowly sets her things down by the door and walks towards the living room, slow as to not startle him and with her hands up where he can see them. A non-threat. She mentally scoffs at that, her, a threat to the six-foot man of a house that looks like he came out of a Murder Weekly magazine. She kneels in front of him.

Kneeling is something that she does to make her students feel like they aren’t inferior to her, but she usually doesn’t do it a foot away from them. She keeps her hands on her lap, somewhere he can see that she isn’t going to hurt him. His face is cast down onto his lap, but his shoulders are still pulled back in a tense position. 

"Are you hurt anywhere?" she asks in a soft voice worried that anything loud will spook him in the quietness of the room. He looks up at her and finally makes a motion to his right arm where he can see the dark patch of what she assumes is blood staining the black material of his military grade jacket. 

"Can I see?" She lays her hand palm side up and he gently places his arm in it. She tries to push up his sleeve, but the material is too tight, and she stops before she can cause anymore discomfort. She lets out a soft sigh. She looks up and the man’s face hasn’t wavered since he glanced back at her. "Let’s give you a nice warm bath, huh?" She stands and holds onto the hand that's wounded and he looks up at her, searching for something she doesn’t know. His eyebrows furrow, making him look almost childlike and the look is such a contrast to the rest of him.

He stands with the small tug she gives him and she’s not at all surprised that he towers over her. Her reading chair looked like child’s furniture when he was sitting in it. 

She gives his hand a reassuring squeeze and says, "Okay, come on." 

She leads him through the living room and up the stairs. She doesn’t want to think about the fact that she’s leading a strange, scary looking man up into her home. So instead she focuses on the wallpaper that’s been in this house since the 80’s and the various family photos that her mother hung up throughout the years. Her gaze catch’s that of a photo of her parents and she gives a silent ‘sorry mom and dad.’ Seems only fitting since there’s a possibility that she won’t be able to say sorry to them in person after she’s murdered to death by the man she offered to run a bath for. She just wanted some fucking cupcakes before bed but no, she had to go and be soft. She blames her loneliness. 

As she walks up into the master bedroom towards the back of the second floor- since it has an actual bath- she takes a deep breath and thinks about what the fuck she’s doing. If literally anyone could see her now, they would think how fucking naive and stupid she’s being and maybe they’d be right. But this man looks tortured and broken and she’s surrounded by helpless little humans every day of the week so really, is this any different? 

Well there is the fact that he broke into her home and is covered in blood and his left arm looks like a fucking weapon, like something out of fucking Robocop...but he looks so _helpless_.  
She looks back and he's looking forward, but it looks like he's not really aware of where he's being led to. It’s almost like he’s used to being moved around like a doll.

She opens her bedroom door and she doesn’t really care that it's a mess of clothes strewn on the floor or papers piled on the dressers because it seems that judging a messy room is the least of his problems and her insecurities. 

One of the things she was looking forward to once her parents handed over the house to her and retired was being able to have full access to the master bathroom. The bathroom itself is the complete opposite of what the bedroom looks like. Her obsession with candles and aromas gives the room a calming aura, something that she’d much like to have now. She thinks she sees the man take a deep breath, not so much as a calmly one but close- it's progress. 

She lets go of his hand and there's a hesitation as if he wants to reach out for her again, but his arm falls limply at his side. She looks at him and says, "Don't worry I'm just going to get the bath started, okay?" 

She turns on water and waits until the water is nice and warm and then plugs the drain so that it fills up. There's a basket next to the tub that has her collection of bath bombs and reach for a lavender one, placing it in the tub and it starts to fizzle. She looks up at the man and she gives him a small smile, there's still no reaction from him but that's okay. His posture is that of a soldier. 

In the low light of the bathroom she can see how tired he looks, dark circles under his eyes. She would want nothing more than to admire his cheekbones, because she can’t help noticing that he’s handsome under all the grime and greasy hair, but there’s a big chance the hollow in his cheeks isn’t something he’s doing on purpose. That snaps her out of her thoughts, and she grabs the first aid from under the sink, ready to deal with the man's wound. 

She walks up to him and says, "Okay let’s have you sit and see what we're dealing with." She brings her desk chair from her room and gently guides him to sit down, setting down the first aid at her side. She goes and turns off the tap, the bath bomb dissolving making the water look purple and inviting.

She walks up to the man and stutters, "Okay can you take off your..." she’s not sure what to call it. A vest? A jacket? There's latches but it seems like they might have a different purpose, an instinct tells her there might be a zipper on the back, "I'm going to reach behind you okay? To unzip." She hesitantly moves her hand towards his neck and there is a slight worry in the back of her mind that he might react and hurt her, but he hasn't hurt her this far, so she continues. Pushing his hair back she tries to limit the touching that she does and feels a zipper at the top. 

"Okay I'm going to pull it down." 

She slowly hears as the zipper gives and slides smoothly down his back. She uses both hands to reach where the jacket has separated and pulls them forward over his shoulder. She tries to mask the gasp that threatens to leave her mouth as she sees that his arm is in fact a metal prosthetic that connects a little past his shoulder. The scarring where his flesh meets metal is a dead giveaway that this man has been tortured and been through hell and back. 

She reaches to his right arm because that’s the only sleeve and gently pulls it down towards his hand. Once the material reaches the bottom part of his bicep she sees where there’s a cut, it looks like it might be a couple of inches long, but it doesn’t look too deep where she would need to stitch it, but it will require a thicker bandage. “The flowing seems to have stopped so that’s good, let’s just get the rest of this off huh?” Being careful with the wound she pulls the rest of the sleeve off and set aside the top next to her. 

She opens the first aid and grabs the alcohol and some cotton, and she says, “Okay since we’re going to give you a bath, I’m going to just clean it and wrap it, so we don’t get soap in it.” Dipping the alcohol to coat the cotton she says, “It might sting a bit,” and she feels a little dumb seeing as this is probably the least pain he’s experienced but, it’s still a warning. 

Of course, he doesn’t react to the alcohol and as she cleans the wound, she looks up at him, eyes looking more void than they did earlier. She thinks maybe it’s an instinct to pain and her heart breaks a little. She quickly grabs some gauze and wraps it around his bicep. 

“Let’s get the rest of your clothes off okay?” He doesn’t make a move to take off his boots or pants, “I’m going to take off your boots now.” She unties the laces and sets his boots to side. He’s not wearing any socks, so she stands and reaches for his hand, “Okay stand up please, let’s work on these pants.” He lets her pull him up, “I’m going to grab your belt okay?” Undoing his belt is easy and she unbuttons his pants, she blushes a little because this a grown ass man and not a child who had an accident in class. She looks up at him and doesn’t break eye contact as she clears her throat, “I’m going to pull you pants now.” She doesn’t feel comfortable pulling down his underwear, so she just leaves that until he gets into the bath.

No reaction.

She pushes down the pants and once they’re passed his bottom, they easily slide  
down his legs and she whispers, “Can you step out of them please?” and he does. She smiles, “Good. Now let’s take this bath and I’ll make you something to eat before we go to bed.”

She grabs his hand and leads him to the bath, “Here, before you step inside, slide off _your_ underwear.” He picks up on her emphasis on _your_ and as he reaches down to the band of the underwear. She quickly turns her head. She hears the fabric hit the floor but then there’s no movement. She turns and makes sure not to look down, give the man some sort of privacy. 

He’s there, looking as stoic as ever, so she says, “Can you go in and sit in the tub?” and he does. He’s a little tall for the tub but with his legs bent a little at the knee, he fits just right. The water sits right above the middle of his abdomen.

She’s not sure if his arm is allowed to get wet so she gently grabs it and places it on the edge of the tub, and he doesn’t make a move to remove it. He sits with perfect posture and his far away gaze. 

She kneels next to him where he can see her, and she reaches for a sponge and slowly starts rinsing off as much dirt off his body with the water. The foam of the bath bomb covering his broad back and chest. From an outside perspective, the contrast of this man’s rugged body against the light purple water with surrounding bubbles must be an image to behold. She does mourn a little that this is the bath she was supposed to be having. 

Grabbing a cup from the sink she dips it into the tub and fills it in, “I’m going to wet your upper body now, okay?” 

The room is quiet, the only noises being the sloshing of water as it cascades down his body and the quiet warnings, she gives him before each of her movements. She reaches for one of her body washes and squirts some onto the sponge. She starts at his back and gently rubs small circles, making her way down his back and then moving to the front of his chest. Moving the sponge under his arms and making sure to be careful with the bandage. She runs the sponge down each arm and gently washes his flesh hand clean. Her hand looks tiny compared to his, she thinks it’s cute as it is frightening. She adds more soap and makes her way down his torso. Her face heats up for the second time when she reaches closer below his waist and with a whisper she says, “If you’re uncomfortable with me touching here please tell me.” 

There’s no reaction but as her hand is about to disappear down the water and never once turning towards her, he grabs her wrist with his left arm. She gasps but she doesn’t pull away, the touch is gentle, and he grabs the sponge with his right and reaches down, washing below his waist. His right hand reappears, and he hands her the sponge. 

“Okay so boundaries, noted. Can you bring up your knees a bit more?” He does, face still looking forward. She washes from his knees down each leg and what she can reach of his feet. Her knees are killing her from kneeling on the tile, but she’s almost done. 

“Almost done, can you lean your head back?” she asks as she grabs the cup and goes to rinse his hair first before shampooing. She cups her hand on top of his forehead so that water doesn’t run down his face, “There we go, this is going to be your favorite part.” 

She sets the cup down and grabs some shampoo and lathers it between her hands and tenderly runs her hands through his hair. Starting from the root, she massages the shampoo and she sees that his eyes have shut on their own and she smiles, “It feels nice huh?”

No response.

She works her hands down the strands of hair and again she says, “Okay tilt you head again,” and rinses the shampoo out. Once the shampoo is out, she grabs a cloth and dips it in the water, “Here look at me so I can wash your face.” With a light touch of his chin he willingly turns towards her. His eyes are still closed, and she caringly scrubs away the dirt and what looks to be black paint away from his face. 

She admires him as she slowly cleans away the remains of his night or she wouldn’t be surprised if it’s been months since he’s been clean. His eyelashes are long, and his eyebrows take up almost all of his face, the five-o clock shadow at least gives way that he’s been allowed to shave at least. 

She finds his nose to be perfect but that one note doesn’t take away from the fact that he has laugh lines along his mouth but with the way the corners of his mouth turn down it doesn’t look like he’s been doing much smiling. She goes over the little dip on his chin and when she takes one last look at him, the lack of movement makes him open his eyes. She’s mesmerized by the fact that there’s a hint of grey in the center that is surrounded by the lightest blue she’s ever seen. 

He’s beautiful.

Placing the rag on the side of the tub she whispers, “I’m going to go grab some clothes I think my dad left behind. I’ll be right back okay?” She notices his hands grip onto the sides of the tub, almost as if he’s ready to jump out if she leaves. She sets a hand on his flesh hand and the whites of his knuckles disappear. “I’ll be quick, I promise.” 

Her dad did leave some clothes and its mostly sweatpants and his collection of baseball jerseys and a college sweatshirt. She’s also glad that there’s a few pairs of underwear and she heads back triumphally to the sad, scary man in her tub. 

“I found some stuff!” she says excitedly but not too loud to scare him. He’s still in the tub so she sets the clothes on the chair and grab a big fluffy towel. She grabs his hand and pull him up onto his feet. She reaches up and dries his hair first, “We’ll brush this after we’ve dressed you.” She continues down his chest but hands him the towel to dry the lower half of his body. As he does that, she grabs the underwear first and trades off the boxers for the towel. She holds the towel up, creating a makeshift wall and waits for him to put on the boxers. Once he’s done, she grabs a New York Yankees jersey and helps him pull his injured arm through the hole and finally buttoning it up. He puts on the sweats and she holds back a giggle as she takes notice that he’s just a bit taller than her dad, so the sweatpants look like highwaters. She leads him to the chair again, and he silently sits down. 

She grabs a comb and starts at the ends of his hair and makes her way up, being careful with the tangles, “There we go honey, almost good as new. Let’s put on a clean bandage and head down to the kitchen. You must be starving?” 

She leads him downstairs and seats him at the kitchen table. “How about we have some grilled cheese sandwiches?” 

No response. 

“You know they say I make a mean grilled cheese,” she says as she takes out the things she needs. Turning the stove on medium and putting a bit of butter on the pan. She watches it start to sizzle as she sets up two plates with four pieces of bread on one because this is a _big_ man. 

She looks back every once in a while, and it crosses her mind that maybe she shouldn’t have her back to him. She still doesn’t have a single clue as to why he’s in her home or why he looks like some kind of assassin. 

The grilled cheeses are quick to make, and she sets the plate in front of him and pours him a glass of milk. He doesn’t touch the sandwiches or the glass and then she goes, “Oh! I forgot to cut them.” As if _that’s_ the reason why he hadn’t began eating, she proceeds to cut the sandwiches in half. She sits back and after a moment he picks a triangle up and takes a bite. She eats in silence and she really wants to ask him who he is and why he broke into her home but it’s really late, or if he’s planning on murdering her in her sleep but that just reminds her of how sleepy _she_ is. 

As the last of her energy starts to dwindle, she feels proud that she was able to get this somewhat normal looking man to shine through, just with a simple bath. His face is free of any dirt and his hair looks shiny and healthy after one wash. She takes note that he only picks up his glass or his grilled cheese with his right hand. Definitely a sign that he has some kind of distrust with the metal arm. Her eyes shift towards it as much as her gaze seeks out his eyes. 

After there’s only crumbs left on both of their plates, she gathers the dishes and puts them in the sink. She holds out her hand, “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

He gets up easily and she leads him back up the stairs and she ignores the urge to just let him sleep in her bed where she’ll be able to keep an eye on. She can hear literally anyone’s voice telling her that it would be a dumb fucking idea. And for once this night, she listens to the voices of reason in her head and she leads him to the guest bedroom that’s down the hall from the master. The bed is small, but she thinks it’s better than nothing. She leads him to sit down on the bed and walks towards the closet to grab some blankets. 

She returns and places the blankets in his lap gently. His flesh hand goes over the soft fabric, caressing it like someone who’s never had a blanket to hold. 

“Hold on to those while I pull back the covers.” She does that and then eases him down, tucking him into bed. He stares at her and she brushes his hair behind his ears, “I’ll be right down the hall okay? You’re safe here.”

She leaves the door open and gives him one more reassuring look. Heading to her room she grabs her favorite night shirt, a band t that her father left behind and some leggings. She takes a quick shower, the events of the evening catching up to her. It’s nearly 1 in the morning and she has no idea what’s going to happen tomorrow. 

Crashing into her bed it doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep once her eyes close.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Soldier breaks into the readers home just as he's breaking out of Hydra's conditioning. A love story about two people. Her falling in love with no regrets and him selflessly allowing himself to love and be loved.

The assist- Bucky. His name is Bucky. That’s what the man on the bridge had said. It sounds wrong. There are so many things that don’t make sense after the events of the past two weeks. After walking away from the man, the one who said knew him, he made his way out west. He kept going until the houses started to be further and further away from each other. Living off of stolen gas station foods and water from a river miles back, exhaustion finally began to set in. 

When he saw the dark house, he assumed that it would be a good place to regroup himself. It having no festive lights like the ones that neighbored it. It was easy to break in through the back-kitchen door. The house looked semi lived but he counted on the fact that no one would be in until hours from now. Enough time to get some sleep and keep moving. He sits in a reading chair that’s angled towards the front door and the doorway that leads to the kitchen. A vantage point in case the owner of the house walks in. He would be quick enough to put down whoever before they even saw him. 

He closes his eyes, feeling like he can finally rest and not be on edge that someone will find him sleeping in the middle of a field like has for the past week. This is the longest he’s been away from his handlers and it’s not sitting well with his body. There’s no protocol or procedure, just a natural process that his body is not used to and that he’s fighting with every fiber of his being. 

What he doesn’t expect is for his body to take over and shut down all his sense of survival instincts he’s been living off of. 

That’s why he’s surprised when he hears a soft sigh from the woman at the front door. He didn’t hear the sound of the car coming into the driveway, the jingle of keys or the lock of the door being put back in place. 

His first instinct is to grab for the gun at his hip, but he walked away from the DC with nothing. Not even his favorite knife. He could walk over, silent on his feet and take her down in one move, but he doesn’t have the energy or see a threat…and he’s just so tired of _running away_. 

The moment she sees him and sees the panic on her face, her fight or flight landing on flight. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to startle her; he doesn’t want to _fight_. She thinks he’s going to rob her. He can’t even think of anything he would want to take, so he doesn’t respond. Maybe she’ll try to make a run for it, and he’ll let her. Giving him enough time to walk right back out the back door and away from this city.

He sees the moment she gives up her false stance and her shoulders slump in fear when she lets out the soft plea. The fact that his presence broke down her will to stand her ground makes him feel like shit. 

He leans forward enough to catch her eyes. To send out his own plea. Conveying how much he doesn’t want to hurt her, that he’s not okay. _God_ , that he doesn’t even know how not okay he is because he doesn’t even know who he is. He was a tool, his mind still not his own no matter how many miles he’s had to try and figure out _who_ he is. He almost wishes he didn’t have to experience this helplessness and instead go back under. 

She must find some speck of humanity he’s been able to put together because her whole demeanor changes and pity floods her eyes. He wants to sag his shoulders in relief that he doesn’t have to prove himself or runaway just yet, but he stays frozen so as to not make her change her mind. Because maybe if he stays still enough, she won’t call him out on the fact that he looks like a monster. 

He takes in her slow motions as she sets down her belongings and walks towards him. Stopping a foot away from him and without breathing, kneels so that she has to look up at him. He knows that a week ago he would slit her throat with no hesitation. God how fucked up is that. 

Her soft voice, and welcoming posture throws him off guard. She doesn’t demand for him to give a report on his health, but he gives in to the sweet tone that roles off her tongue. He points to one of the many wounds he got from the events in DC. One that hasn’t seemed to heal, and the dried blood is started to make his skin itch. So, he places his arm in the palm of her hand to inspect. He doesn’t know how a bath is going to fix anything but he’s at her mercy, even if it’s just for tonight. 

He makes himself as light as possible while she leads him up the stairs to what he assumes is her family home. Pictures of her face scattered all over the wall, of different ages of her life.

A life. 

He must have had one decades ago and that’s a fucking trip he’s not looking forward to wrap his mind around yet. 

Walking into a room with a big bed in the middle piled high with blankets and articles of clothes strewn all over it. Books and shoes misplaced, mismatched artwork on the walls. 

This is her.

An innocent chaos only for her eyes and she’s allowed him in her space. 

Her bathroom is a whole other vibe and he can almost feel his shoulders finally slump when he breathes in the smell of something calming and sweet. What follows is probably the most tenderness he’s ever experienced in his life. Or what he assumes is. 

Her touch is just as soft as the rest of her and he drowns himself in it while he can. While she still has the compassion to help him before she comes to her senses and calls the authorities. Cleaning away at the grim and dirt until the water is no long the light purple but a muddy shade. He feels like he’s scrapped off a layer of the weapon he was just weeks ago. 

He feels her stare when she notices that too because when he opens his eyes, he can’t help but notice the wonder in hers. The questions that are running through her mind. He wonders if he really looks that much more like a human as how he feels. 

There’s an ever ending of softness with her around. Not only with the way she carries herself but with the things she gives him. The towel, the clothes and the blankets she hands him once she deems him ready for bed. A bed. He doesn’t know when the last time he’s slept in one but it’s a weird thing to forget. 

When she says goodnight, he can’t help but notice how tired she looks. He’s hit with shame at the fact that he came into her home and became a burden in her life tonight. But he’s feeling selfish and he wants to pretend at least for a night that he deserves this soft being. 

He wants to reach out for her, ask her to stay but he still can’t seem to voice his needs. Afraid to shatter the glass. So, he lets himself stay tucked in and listens to her getting ready just in the room next door. 

When there’s finally silence in the house, he lets out a breath he’s been holding since she left the room. Thinking it was too good to be true and she would come to her senses once and for all and men would come barging up the stairs and into the room he’s in. He wouldn’t even fight it. 

As much as he wants to just shut his eyes and sleep for once in who knows how long, because he sure doesn’t know, he can’t. 

He pulls back the blanket and swings his legs over to the side of the bed. His feet land softly on the floor and he makes his way to her room. Her door isn’t shut and god, he doesn’t know if this woman is a saint or insane. 

She’s laying on her side, a pillow hugged to her chest. The faint light of the moon seeps through the curtain. She’s beautiful. The most peaceful thing he’s ever seen, might be the only peaceful thing he’ll ever see. 

He goes to the love seat that she has by the window. He imagines this is where she likes to read and that almost makes him smile. He doesn’t allow himself. 

What he does allow himself to do is watch her sleep while he can. He’s convincing himself that this will only last tonight. He doesn’t care if under normal circumstances this would be deemed unacceptable because his life will never be normal. 

He imagines that. What a normal life would be like by her side. If this room were also filled with his books or whatever normal hobby he’d have. His boots would be sat next to her shoes, maybe a jacket swung over the chair he’s sitting at. A picture or two of the both of them on the dresser, next to the vase filled with sunset orange flowers. Maybe he’d have bought her those. He’d have attached a note with something cheesy like, _‘you’re a constant sunset that warms my heart.’_

Fuck. He’s even more insane than she is. 

He’ll leave before dawn. He won’t leave a single trace of him ever being here and she’ll think it was all a dream. He’ll keep heading west and never look back. 

She stirs. He _freezes_. 

Now he knows they should _both_ be put in a mental hospital because instead of being unnerved that a complete stranger is watching her sleep, she instead breaks the silence in the room with, “Oh sweetheart, how long have you been sitting there? Were you not able to sleep?” 

And how can he give up this small ounce of peace?


	3. Chapter 3

Waking up to a stranger siting on the love seat in the corner doesn’t nearly give her a heart attack as it should. she looks over at the clock and it’s barely 2 in the morning. She can see the bags under his eyes just with the faint moonlight coming in from the window.

He doesn’t nod or shake his head when she speaks to him and she says fuck it to whatever voice of reason that’s in her head and pulls back the covers, patting the empty side of her bed, “Come on, let’s try and get a couple of hours of sleep.”

It feels like forever, as her sleep ridden mind just wants to shut down but finally his feet silently pad their way to the bed. Laying down robotically next to her. She yawns and scoots in closer until she can lay her head on his chest and wrap an arm around his torso. He smells like her dad and it’s easy to nod off back to sleep. She doesn’t even feel the metal arm lay carefully on top of them or the way the man takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. 

The next time she wakes up the sun is reflecting off the metal arm, shining a ray of light at her. She takes a deep breath in and looks up at the man in her bed. The one _she_ invited into _her_ bed at god knows what hour. 

She doesn’t panic because it seems like he’s actually sleeping. He looks the most peaceful since…well since she’s met him, technically since he broke into her home. She doesn’t have the heart to wake him up but as soon as she tightens her hand on his metal arm his eyes shoot open and he looks down at her. He starts to breathe heavily, like he’s having a panic attack. He sits up and he’s looking around frantically, she grabs both of his hands and holds them tight. Trying to anchor him, “Sweetheart you have to breath look at me, that’s it just looks at me,” his eyes lock on to hers and he’s searching her face, his breathing slows down. “That’s it, good job, just focus on me.” She pushes back the strands of hair that have fallen into his eyes, “You’re safe here, I promise.”

He never stops looking at her, almost like in aw, even when she takes him to the bathroom so that they both can get their day started, whatever that’s going to consist of. They brush their teeth together, the his and hers sinks finally being used again since her parents left. She’s about to leave him alone to do whatever other business he needs to do but he grabs her hand, almost in a plea to stay. “I’ll be right out outside.” He finally lets her go after he feels reassured enough; she sits back on the bed. She recounts the night before and it all just feels so…surreal. 

She reaches for her phone, but she remembers she left it in the car. 

He watches the door click softly shut and hears the spring the bed as her weight settles on top. He sighs at the fact that she’s so close, just like she said she would. God, how has he become so dependent on her presence already? Just the thought of being in a different place than her makes his heart race. Is it because this is the most, he’s felt human in a long time? It’s almost like his body is remembering what it’s like to actually live and not be a shell of a man. He listens to her steady heartbeat before taking care of business. Thoughts of how he’s going to keep his shit together around her. 

+

She makes breakfast and just like the night before she makes sure to make double for her guest and realizes that they’re going to have to go grocery shopping if she’s going to keep both of them fed. She doesn’t know how long he’s going to be here but that’s beside the point. She’s going to be a good host and that’s that. She doesn’t care about what her friends and family will think of her if they knew she’s housing a possible terrorist in her childhood home. 

Breakfast is uneventful, she’s trying to wrap her head around the situation she’s somehow found herself in and he, well, he doesn’t say much. As they both finish eating she checks the clock, it’s barely 9am it would be a good time to go grocery shopping to avoid as much outside interactions. It might be a hunch, but she doesn’t think that he could handle crowds. Maybe she should just leave him here and go shopping? Yeah, let’s just leave the brooding, metal armed man in the house she learned to potty train in. He’ll be fine. 

With that plan settled she picks up their plates when they finish and says, “I’m going to go pick up some groceries, seems like we’re eating for three,” she jokes and points towards his stomach. He doesn’t laugh but not even a live audience would be surprised. 

She leads him to the living room and turns on a movie for him to watch, to entertain him while she’s away. Though it seems like trying to make him comfortable is a waste of time because as she’s putting on her shoes by the door he comes up and stands next to her, she sighs. 

“Are you sure you want to go out? I’ll be quick I promise.” He doesn’t respond but you can tell that he doesn’t like the idea of her just leaving him alone. His eyes are almost pleading to come with her, “Okay you can come along with but please stay by my side okay? If you feel overwhelmed just hold my hand.” 

She grabs a baseball cap from the coat rack and places it on his head. The tail of the cap covers most the top half of his face and the sides are covered by his shoulder length hair. Good, she has a feeling he’s running away from something and it would be smart to draw as little attention as possible. 

Getting settled in the car is easy and she plugs her phone into the car charger. She responds to a worried message from her mom and reassures her she just forgot to call them the night before due to a long day. 

The closest grocery store is a 20-minute drive into the city and there’s a calm silence at first but then she can’t help herself from telling him about how long her week has been. Her only friends these days are her coworkers but it’s nice to speak to someone _new_. Even if that new someone did break into her home. 

She tells him about how her students seemed to grow restless for the Christmas break. How her troublemakers Steve and Jason had decided to place dirt worms in Jessica’s chocolate pudding. She’s laughing because it wasn’t okay that they did that, but Jessica is a little stuck up for a five-year-old that she thinks it’s just a tad bit funny. As she’s about to dive into another story when the man mutters something under his breath. She nearly gets whip lash when she hears an actual word come from his direction. 

“James.”

She eyes him wearily but curious, “You do look like a James.” She doesn’t push for any more information even if she’s dying to hear more of his voice. Instead she continues telling him about her students. 

Once at the grocery store, she grabs a cart and reminds James about what to do if he feels like it’s too much. He follows close behind her, and when she stops to look at something, she can almost feel him breathing against her hair. When she can feel his breathing get a bit quicker, she looks back and places a reassuring hand on his cheek. 

His eyes close every time her hand touches his face, feeling grounded. Not knowing where all the exits are and literally just every modern-day thing is really putting him on high alert. He’s never being in the present time like this as a semi normal human. Always just an asset with orders and a target, no time to take things in. At least knowing she’s aware of his anxiety filled predicament puts him at somewhat of an ease. 

She grabs the necessities for breakfast and even lets James pick out some cereal which surprises her when he grabs the ones that look like they have the most sugar. She places some fruit and even grabs some steaks for dinner. She also helps him pick up some hygiene products like deodorant and razors.

Everything seems to be fine; James doesn’t seem bothered by the occasional person passing by with their cart as they spend more time in the store. He just turns his head towards her, hiding his face from the stranger. That tactic seems to be working until an excited high pitch voice calls out. 

“Miss! Miss!” 

She feels James tense up when one of her students runs down the aisle towards them both. She quickly grabs James’ hand, lacing her fingers together. Once her student gets closer, she puts on a smile as little Steve looks up at her and James, bright and happy eyes.

“Steve, how nice to see you!” She almost doesn’t catch the way James squeezes her hand a bit tighter at the mention of the name. 

Steve’s grandma follows behind him and she apologizes, “Alright Steve, let’s not bother your teacher on her break. Hello, how are you?” his grandmother asks, she seems a bit interested in the stranger that’s currently looking like a statue behind you. 

Steve points up at her and James, “Is he your boyfriend, Miss?” he giggles making her blush. 

“Steve!” his grandmother chastises him. 

She laughs and looks back at James, he’s already looking at her and she blushes harder. James _is_ a handsome man, there’s no denying that. “He’s a friend visiting for the holidays, James” she decides on. 

Before Steve’s grandma can excuse them, Steve sees Bucky’s metal fingers, eyes growing wide, “Woah! You have a metal arm??? That’s so cool!”

“ _Steve!_ ” his grandma hisses, “You can’t just ask strangers that. You know how your uncle Charlie gets when you ask about his prosthetic leg.” Steve nods his head shamefully, and his grandma looks up at James, “Military?” James doesn’t answer but she does it for him, nodding her head and Steve’s grandma nods back in understanding, “Thank you for your service son, glad to have you home. Come on Steve, your mom said she gets out at noon today. Say goodbye.”

“Bye, Miss! Bye, Mr. James! Merry Christmas!”

Once they walk away, she turns to James, “I think we got all we need, yeah? Let’s go home.” 

_Home_. That’s something that he hasn’t heard in a long time. He has a vague memory of what home used to be. Though he’s not sure if it’s a real or something that has manifested itself from all the years that he wasn’t him. It sounds nice coming out of her mouth and towards him.

+

On the way back home, she mentions how Steve’s mom is always working and his grandmother is usually the one that picks him up from school, “Maybe that’s why he’s always causing a ruckus,” she says quietly. 

She tells him about her parents and how they retired to Florida and her plans on visiting them sometime soon. She brings up her brother Erik, who had been stationed somewhere in the middle east but hadn’t come home after his last tour, her voice cracks. She hasn’t talked about Erik’s death since it happened two years ago and the way James acts reminds her of how Erik changed after his first tour, a lost look constantly in his eyes, there but hallow. 

“Sorry,” she apologizes as she wipes away a few tears that escape. James doesn’t say anything, and it doesn’t bother her because she knows it’s not because he doesn’t know what to say but because he seems trapped inside his own head most of the time. 

He panics when he hears her quietly start to break next to him. He knows he’s lost all the family that he knew but he doesn’t emotionally feel grief because he doesn’t remember them yet. Her on the other hand, experienced first-hand the tragic loss of her brother. The idea that someone so pure could be suffering. It doesn’t seem fair to him. 

She’s taken by surprise when he tentatively puts his hand out to her, palm side up. He’s still facing forward, but she doesn’t have to see his eyes to know what he’s trying to convey with this gesture. She gives a quick glance at the gleaming, metal palm before grasping it with a shaky hand. The fact that he’s trying to comfort her makes her let a small sob escape, more tears racing down her face and she squeezes the metal, not afraid of hurting him. Just needing to feel grounded to something again. 

The rest of the ride home is silent, her hand still in his is all the comfort that needs to be said. 

James watches her as she puts the groceries away, she’s given up on trying to convince him that he can sit down and relax. But she’s learning that relaxing might not be in his vocabulary. 

That seems to come in handy when she asks him to help her tidy up the back yard and decides it’s not too late to put up Christmas lights. 

It hasn’t begun to snow yet and the weather is a nice enough that the sun keeps both of them warm enough that the chilly breeze is a welcome. With a quiet companionship, small comments from her every now and then, they finish wrapping the house in lights right as the sun begins to set. 

He watches her eyes widen, the reflection of the lights in her eyes as she admires their days work. He doesn’t care much for the lights, feels a bit safer knowing now that her house blends in with the others scattered around hers. Harder for someone to figure out whether or not a valuable asset is hiding there. Her safety is his main concern now.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s like that for the next week, a co-habitation of a lonely woman and an out of place man. She learns that he will do anything she asks of him and he finds himself start to settle into what he once was, slowly.

That’s what she finds herself noticing when they’re having dinner two nights before Christmas. He’s sitting across the table from her and she takes in how he the color of his skin has changed from the pasty, colorless tone that she saw when she first saw him. His cheeks fuller from eating three meals a day and his eyes no longer look sunken like they did under the bathroom lights that first night. She smiles down when she remembers how they woke up that morning. 

He’s been sleeping in her bed since that first night and they’ve only grown more comfortable in each other’s arms. This morning she woke up with him looking at her with eyes so filled with aw that she blushed and hid her face in his neck when his stare became too much. How could a week of living with a complete stranger make her feel so complete? She feels happy, content at their little living situation even if it’s the most unconventional situation. 

Her smile doesn’t go unnoticed by him, smiling down onto his own dinner plate as he eats. The ever-present sense of danger has taken a backseat in his mind and the selfish part of him letting him take in the now, here with her. He’s been contemplating trying to tell her who he really is for the past day. The things that he’s started to piece together from his scrambled brain. She’s been so patient, never pushing for information and allowing him to simply co-exist in her home. But he’s starting to feel this sense of overstaying, overstepping into her home, her life. A life where he shouldn’t exist. 

He decides to start by saying the first thing that comes to mind as they’re washing the dishes, a memory from long ago. Reaching for the now washed plate to dry with a kitchen towel he says, voice raspy, “Stevie always seemed to come home with bowls and spoons, and I never knew where’d he got the money to buy them until days later when Mrs. Garrison from the first floor could be heard complaining that someone had stolen her silver wear from where they were drying on her window sill.” 

Her heart races in excitement at hearing his voice fill the quiet space between them. She watches him in fascination as his demeanor changes from the less stoic man she’s come to know to amused filled eyes and the quirk of a smile as he stares out the kitchen window. She doesn’t say anything at first, just letting his voice register into the depths of her mind, an everlasting track she’d like to hear forever. 

When she finally replays what he said in her mind, her eyebrows meet in wonder and she asks in a soft voice, “Was he your brother?”

His hands freeze in mid motion of drying the plate and she panics as she feels she’s broken whatever trance he was in. She squeezes the plate in her hand anxiously as she waits for him to say something else, anything else. 

The fondness in his eyes is replaced with sadness, “He wasn’t my brother, but it always felt like he was.” 

She tentatively asks, “Where is he now?” 

A self-deprecating laugh comes out his mouth as he says, “Probably being a punk and looking for me as we speak.” And wow, did that feel natural to say. Because if he lets himself think about it for a second and not ignore the fact that his mind has had enough time to register the fact that the man, he fought on the aircraft was the same scrawny kid he was pulling out of fights since before they were friends. Has had enough time to realize Steve is the reason he was able to breakout of his conditioning long enough to make his first decision in over 70 years. 

“Do you think he’ll come for you? D-do you want him to come for you?” 

There’s silence and she doesn’t have the heart to look at him as she waits for his answer. Her head snaps up when he quietly, with the voice he hasn’t used in who knows how long, says, 

“No.”

“ _No?_ ”

“I don’t want him to come for me.” 

She heaves out a sigh of relief, and he awards her with a small smile in return, shy eyes looking down at his hands. He knows he hasn’t felt this feeling since, well he hopes this is a real memory, but he thinks when he went out on a date with a girl from down the hall and she let him give her a kiss after teasing him all night. 

With childish smiles on both their faces, they finish up the dishes and head towards the back porch to enjoy the evening breeze. Whatever was growing between them blossoms that night. He could feel it in the way she whole heartily leaned back into his chest as they watched the moon shine down on them.


	5. Chapter 5

_Christmas Day_

She woke up out of her slumber because it was cold and not warm like what she had begun to get used to since James started staying with her. The space next to her is empty and she bolts up from her bed scanning the room for James. She pushes back the covers when she doesn’t find him in the room and runs out the room in search for him. 

Her legs feel stiff as she makes her way down the stairs and wraps her arms around herself. She comes to a slow stop when she finds James sitting in front of the window looking at the snow that had fallen overnight. He doesn’t startle when she sits next to him or look away from the frosted windowpane. 

“How Christmas is it that it snows the day of huh?” she chuckles softly. 

“I’m not a big fan of being cold.” 

Taking into consideration that he doesn’t like the cold; she makes a mental list to go shopping for warmer clothes. For now, her dad’s old jackets and spare socks will have to do. 

“Me neither, only ever enjoyed it during the holidays. I don’t know made it seem more festive, like in the movies.”

He looks over at her with a soft glint in his eyes, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen a Christmas movie. Never seen one in color before.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, questioning whether he’s joking or not, “We can definitely spend the day watching Christmas movies.” 

He nods and faces back towards the window, waits a beat and then says, “I- I had sisters. Three of them but I have this one vivid memory of Rebecca…Becca. We hadn’t had enough money to buy presents, so she gave me a tie she had made out of her favorite scarf.”

She noticed that he talks in past tense but she doesn’t want to overstep or make him feel uncomfortable now that he’s actually _speaking_ to her, so she doesn’t ask. 

“That’s really sweet James.”

He just nods again off handily. 

“Erik would always get me the same thing for my birthdays, for Christmas or anything really,” she starts, her voice cracking a bit at just the thought of her brother, “ _everlasting flowers_.” Her eyes dart over to the kitchen table where there’s a vase with two of them in it. 

James follows her eyes. Taking in the dried petals of the orange flower. He imagines they were bright when they were alive. They were something he noticed the first couple of days of him being here. Walking into any room of the house there was at least one flower in it. 

“Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll last too long.”

She takes in what he says and laughs, “What a weird thing to say James.” 

He rolls his eyes, something that has begun to come naturally to him, and he thinks it has something to do with Steve, “One of these days I’ll tell you about everything that’s inside my mind.”

“Everything?” she raises an eyebrow and smiles.

James flinches internally, “Well maybe not _everything_.”

One day. Maybe that day is today, maybe it’s tomorrow, and that’s good enough for her. She lets the short silence settle over them before she gets up to make breakfast. 

James joins her and even helps her make the pancakes and stir milk into their coffee. Dancing around each other in the kitchen like the type of domestic that she saw her parents have when she was growing up. It makes her smile. 

She can’t help but laugh when she sees the pancakes piled high on his plate. Five on his compared to her two. He gives her a questioning look over the syrup bottle as he graciously soaks his pancakes.

“May I ask what’s so funny Miss?”

She tries to hide her smile before saying, “No nothing is funny.”

He shakes his head as he begins to cut his pancakes, “I don’t know, it seems like you’re doing a lot of staring and giggling. Makes a man feel a little insecure.”

She giggles and rolls her eyes playfully, “Fine, I won’t look at you anymore.”

God does this feel easy, this back and forth flirting. He knows that’s how he used to be, can feel it like a ghost feeling in the back of his mind. If he doesn’t think about it for too long, this interaction feels like a moment in a timeline where he wasn’t robbed of his life. 

Because right now, with this beautiful woman giggling in front of him, he feels like the man who won it all. 

The rest of Christmas day is spent cuddled up while watching Christmas movies. James finds them all ridiculous and cliché but never tears his gaze away from the screen. They also sit outside on the back porch drinking hot chocolate. James doesn’t mind the cold then with warmth between his hands and her next to him. Telling him about how as a child she believed snowflakes spent the beginning of their existence different from one another but they’re whole short lives lead up to becoming one giant snowflake in the end. 

That day, he learns to hate the cold just a little less. 

The days leading up to New Years, James finds himself lost in thought about how in a different universe he would have been seeing this new year with older and wiser eyes. He thinks he should stop running away from Steve. Face the fact that their fates, no matter how painful, kept them together. 

But he can’t help but continue to keep being selfish and staying with someone who doesn’t know who he used to be and who doesn’t know what he’s done. She just knows the him _now_. 

He knows the days are limited with her, wishes with all his heart that this could be the first of many years that they have together. Maybe telling her who he is before fate inevitably takes him away will make it hurt less.

He’ll tell her soon. For now, he’ll enjoy the image of her dancing in the kitchen to a tune he doesn’t know while she makes her mother’s famous chocolate chip cookies.

+

The weekend before she has to go back to school, they find themselves outside playing in the snow. Both of them huddle up in winter jackets and scarfs. There’s an abandon field in the land next to her house where they play hide and seek. The grass is tall, and it crinkles anytime they shift in it. 

She goes deep enough, making sure to not make her path obvious before staying completely still. She slows her breathing down as she shivers in place, her small puffs of air keeping her company as she waits. She hears rustling where James is moving around. 

He’s near and she tries her hardest not to giggle. 

She feels the gloved hands on her waist a second too late and then she’s screaming in a fit of giggles, her adrenaline pumping as James spins her around in the air, laughing as he says, “I got you.”

He settles her down and she turns around to face him. She stares up at him, he’s smiling ear to ear and his nose is a little red from the cold. He stares back at her with the same intensity she felt that one morning. He settles a gloved hand, the metal one, on her cheek. She wraps her hand around it and squeezes it. Leaning towards each other the last thing she sees before she closes her eyes is the stone grey of his eyes and then … their lips _meet_. 

It’s gentle and slow. Just like how the rest of what’s between them started. When they part, she runs her tongue over her lips and his nose is cold where it rests against her cheek. Their breaths melting together in the cold air. He opens his eyes and they smile at each other. It’s the biggest smile he’s given her yet, smile meeting up to his eyes where the crow’s feet she noticed on the first night wrinkle. He looks bashful and she’s wondering if he feels just as light as she does.

And she wishes with all her being that this moment is _everlasting _.__


	6. Chapter 6

Her phone buzzes on the table and she smiles knowing exactly who it is. It’s not even a proper sentence but it makes her feel like a giddy teenager whenever she sees James’ name pop up in her notifications. By lunch time she’ll have about six messages from him. Little tidbits from his day. 

_“Apple pie, desert?”_

_“Stray cat. Porch.”_

_“Hi.”_

On the first day back from the break she had this fear that she’d come home from work and he’d be gone. Like he was never there. But he _was_ there. Sitting on the couch watching the Harry Potter movies just like how she left him that morning. 

That evening she dug around the junk drawer looking for the cracked screened phone her mom left behind. Just a simple connection to the WIFI and she was back in full communication with James. It was more for her than for him.

It’s now been two and half months since break ended and she’s still living in a bubble. A James filled bubble that she thought would have bursted weeks ago. 

James has slowly turned into his own person. She’s not sure if it’s the same man that he once was. There are days where she’ll lose him to a thought far away in his mind and it’s like she’s back at the first night all over again. His mouth falls open in the middle of a word and his eyes blank over, the wrinkles in his forehead almost make it seem like he’s seeing death himself. 

He apologizes countless times whenever he makes it back to her. Especially when they’re in the middle of dinner or when he’s telling her something about his childhood, the words stumbling into nothingness. After the fourth time it happened, she took it in stride and held his hand until he came back to her. 

She’s taken a lot of things with stride since James came into her life. But she’s still deathly afraid that one day she’ll wake up and he’ll have vanished. She knows more about him now, but she wants to know more. Wants to know about all the good memories just as much as she wants to know how he ended up in her home, even if it’s something that’s closer to what she saw that night. A weapon without its owner. 

James was on a journey to reading through the books in her house. Putting back his latest read, _1984_ , a novel that he was glad to put away. He’d read that book again if it meant he could take back the moment where he noticed the red white and blue spine of a book. Reluctantly pulling it out, he’s comes face to face with Steve on the cover. Sighing, he takes it back to the reading chair and reads through it. 

He knew he could find out all his answers about who he was on the internet, but he had tried his best to stay away from anything related to him and the man who took up most of his memories from _before_. 

Being selfish has been something that he’s taken with stride since he decided to stay. Knowing more than the things that have come back to him on their own would shatter everything that he’s come to _love_. 

This house with roots, memories that aren’t tainted with blood and death. A routine that doesn’t involve torture or orders. Someone who’s thought him what peace looks like. 

So, finding a chapter describing his life, his past life, shatters the world he’s constructed into pieces. He no longer can deny that his past is real, and he’ll have to face it. He’ll have to tell _her_ who he is entirely. 

He sits out in the back porch while he waits for her to get home and thinks about how his second life on this earth is something that’s just as part of him as his first life. That the person he’s trying to be now is a byproduct of those two lives. And how fucked is that? How is he supposed to explain to his everlasting flower that a WW2 soldier turned brain washed assassin is in love with her?

He looks out into the field of grass and the sun that’s on its way to setting, taking it in one last time. There’s a hidden bag tucked away under the wooden steps of the porch. Just in case.  
Rejection is a possibility. But even knowing it exists won’t prepare him for the pain he’ll most undoubtedly experience. 

The sound of crunching gravel alerts him that she’s home. He waits for her to find him out on the porch. 

Coming home to a quiet house isn’t something that alarms her. Not since the day she came home and she thought James had left, only to find him laying out in the grass soaking up the sun. 

She loved coming home and cuddling with him as he told her about the movie he’d seen or the book he finished. She loved it because that’s how he started finding his voice. She loved seeing his face as it changed with every thought that came to mind about themes and plots. She would run her fingers through his hair where he lay his head on her lap. Until his thoughts would settle and he’d grab her hand and ask her about her kids. He loved to hear how little Steve was doing. 

She equally loved the days where the house was empty, and she’d make her way to the back yard and see him lying on the grass. She loved these days because she saw the journey of James breaking down his walls firsthand. Face relaxed, hands flat on the ground, almost as if he was recharging his soul. On these days, she’d lay down next to him, facing him. His eyes would stay close and she’d trace a single finger down the bridge of his nose or an arch of an eyebrow. He’d finally crack, and a smile would make its way known before he’d turn to her and tickle her until they were rolling around the grass giggling. 

Today she finds it’s neither of those days. Today she finds him sitting on the steps of the porch. He doesn’t turn around or startles as the backdoor creaks shut. There’s tension in the air and she’s scared. Scared because the day has finally come where he tells her he has to leave. The bubble has finally bursted. 

She takes a seat next to him. 

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” she asks, and she notices when her wavering voice reaches his ears because he flinches. 

He doesn’t look at her when he says, “You’re probably going to want me to leave after I tell you something. Something about me.” 

She feels a weight get lifted from her chest. There’s still room for this conversation to end in disaster but she’ll take the fact that he’s given her room to judge for herself over him leaving.

“Okay, I’m listening.” 

She sees a corner of a smile form on his face because he’s learned what her ‘teacher’ talking voice is but quickly disappears as he gets ready to talk. He turns his body so he’s facing her, sitting up straighter, his eyes are focused on the pillar behind her and as if reading from a scripted says, “My name is James Buchanan Barnes. I was born on March 10, 1917.” 

Her eyebrows scrunch up in confusion and before she can react, he puts his hand on hers, pleading, “Please let me explain before you say anything.” 

Squeezing his hand, she does nothing but nod and listens to James explain how he ended up here with the sun setting behind them.

Once he’s recounted his life up to the point where she found him in her living room, she stays quiet processing everything. She’s worked too hard on her patience for her to throw it out the window now. What...what he tells her doesn’t seem impossible. She remembers the day when the news reported that Steve Rogers, _Captain America_ , was back. It didn’t seem real, but he was _there_ , fighting aliens in New York City. 

She’s got vague memories of reading about Captain America in her middle school history class. About his childhood friend, Bucky, and the Howling Commandos. She remembers boys in her first-grade class dressing up as them. And now…now James is _here_. 

He’s actually here and now she’s processing just _how_ he’s here. She feels this overwhelming pressure in her chest as she processes what James, her James, had to endure for decades. 

She breaks. 

That’s the only way she can describe it. She had only imagined what her brother went through, but James…he was here explaining the process of his brain washing, the torture he underwent. 

It breaks him to see her sob, they only thing he can do is rub her back as comfort. It feels wrong to have her in his arms after finally telling her who he is, _what_ he is. He doesn’t deserve her. She’s crying over his pain and that’s something he doesn’t think he’s worthy of. 

When her shoulders stop shaking and sniffles replaces the sobs, he pulls away from her. Looks her in the eye, he can’t be a coward when he says, “Doll, I’ll always be that monster they made me.”

She shakes her head, holding on to him harder, “No, no, I don’t believe that. You’re good, you’re so good.”

It’s his turn to shake his head, her wreaked voice has his eyes tearing up, “If I stay, they might come for me and they’re going to take you away from me. I _won’t_ let them take you away from me.” The thought of them taking her and using her to make him stay or _worse_ experimenting on her like they did, makes him clench his jaw in anger.

She grabs his face in her hands and wipes away the tears that have run down his face, “James, I love you.” He shakes his head, whispering _why?_ She lays her forehead on his and tells him, “I love you, who you are today, that means whoever you were before too. Please don’t go,” she closes her eyes and she feels where he’s rubbing her thumb across her cheek. 

“I’ve been selfish, and I _want_ to keep being selfish because…because I love you,” she opens her eyes and a laugh escapes her at his confession. He smiles back at her, both of them sniffling, “You bring me peace, I want it to last like the flowers that you love…I want our love to last forever.” He closes his eyes and brings their foreheads together again, “But I don’t know if I’ll be able to protect you if they come for me.” 

She just wants to shake him until she convinces him that she wants him to stay with her no matter what. Their bubble might have burst but now they have more to be grateful for. He loves her and that’s all that matters. Whatever time they have together will be enough to last her a lifetime. 

“You said I would want you to leave after you said what you had to say. But I don’t want that,” she breaks away from him, and his eyes find hers, “I want you here, however long I can keep you, I want it all. Please don’t go.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares back at her, he keeps opening his mouth to say something but closes it when he doesn’t find the words to say. He searches her eyes for a second more and finally breaks out into a nervous smile, “Okay.” 

She hugs him tightly to his chest, she feels that if she even let’s go a little, that he’ll disappear right before her eyes, “Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it together.” 

“Together.” 

That night they lay in bed together with the knowledge that they’re in it together no matter what obstacles come their way and with the promise of doing whatever it takes to reach their everlasting.


	7. Chapter 7

March is filled with many firsts for the both of them. Firsts that he wishes there was a way to encapsulate in her everlasting flowers so that they can have them forever. 

He celebrates the first birthday he can remember since before the war. He has vague memories of him and Steve going to Coney Island but isn’t sure if the part where Steve threw up on the Cyclone is real or not. He hopes it is. Maybe one day he’ll ask him. 

She takes him to a lake where her family used to go. It’s warm enough that they bring a blanket and lay under the sun, a packed picnic basket for lunch. It’s nice and he’s happy his first birthday memory has her in it. 

March also brings a first that brought a fear into his chest he’s never experienced. Meeting her parents. She had told him about them, he was living in their home but the idea that he was going to have to meet them never crossed his mind until she brought it up. 

Now, he technically doesn’t meet them, she facetimes them. God is that something he knows would have blown his mind back then. 

His fear isn’t that he’s meeting her parents and that means their relationship is that, a _real_ relationship. It’s that there are still moments where he zones out, gets lost in his mind and he never knows when it’s going to occur. He’s afraid that his mind will betray him while trying to make a first impression. 

It goes as good as it can. Her dad asks to talk to him one on one and they speak for almost an hour. He gives him the shovel talk, as to be expected but then speaks to him like a father and him a son. James knows it’s because she told him that he’s a veteran. He thinks he’s trying to make up for not being there for his own son. Which is something he knows must have taken a lot to do and his respect for the man doubles. 

What brings the fear back is the tactic that her mom uses. A lovely woman of course and she loves him and keeps saying how wonderful it is that her daughter has finally met someone who deserves her. And fuck. If that’s not a big _‘You better do everything in your power to treat my daughter right’_ said wrapped up in a motherly tone. The fear is in the pressure that’s already on his shoulders but know he’s being held accountable for his actions. Because he _knows_ he doesn’t actually deserve her, no way in hell. 

But he would take that pressure a hundred times over. Over and over again. 

A first that he hopes to God he’ll never forget; is the first time they make love. 

Sex hasn’t been on his mind since before the war when he was a punk ass kid chasing tail with his stupid boy charm. War and brainwashing definitely makes the need for sex take a back seat. 

He’s nervous. Can tell she is too but there’s also this excited energy that fills each touch of a hand during breakfast or glances they give each other thinking the other isn’t looking. 

He thinks that he should be more hesitant about her giving herself to him, thinking he doesn’t deserve to have her in that way. But he isn’t. She makes this thing between them build up in a way that feels so natural. Makes him accept that he’s going to give himself to her just as much and they deserve that. It feels _right._

So, that Friday night they go on a date night to the carnival that’s in town. A night spent holding hands and acting like teenagers in love. Something that he wishes will never get old. And after a day of sexual tension growing between them like never before, they experience their first first together. 

He doesn’t remember the first time he had sex, but he knows that it will never compare to having sex with her for the for time. They’re not in a rush and there’s no pressure to make him overthink. 

They kiss like they have all the time in the world. Giggling and smiling at each other while they discover one another’s body in a whole new way. He doesn’t even feel insecure about his arm or the scaring on his shoulder because it’s a part of him she’s accepted from the start. 

It’s a night of worshipping each other to no end. And fuck, if he doesn’t think he’s the luckiest bastard to be with such a beautiful person like her, mind and body. 

It’s the one flower he would hold close because it’s the night they fully committed themselves to _each other_. And there’s no replacing that.


	8. Chapter 8

The afternoon their love is tested she’s running through the tall grass; she’s looking for him. Her heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of her chest. A smile crosses her face as she lets herself be enveloped in the feelings that she feels for this man. Legs running faster so she can catch him. She had no way of knowing that she would feel so strongly about this man and yet here she is. She loves him. It feels that way and a thousand times more. 

He looks back at her giggling face. The purity of her entire being making him feel like a new person. Like the person that he was meant to be his whole life. All the events leading up to where he is now, it was all to get to her. And he would sure as hell do it again every single time if it meant he got to see even a little bit of her sunshine. An everlasting light that for some reason unbeknownst to him, _is_ for him. If only his past self could see him now. He still couldn’t find the words or the control to express to her how much she means to him. He hopes that time will finally be on his side to help him with that. He takes a quick turn and hides as still as he can while she runs past him. Her giggles rushing past him. He quietly keeps backing up, ready to call out her name, the one word that is the easiest to say since he regained some of his mind back. His mouth is ready to say the very thing that is keeping him sane when he feels the hair on the back of his nape. He spins around ready for the threat. He comes face to face with the last person he thought he would see. There, in the edge of the field is Steve. 

“I thought I had time.”

“I know pal.” 

He knew it was too good to be true. He feels angry at himself for thinking that he was going to finally be free. In the silence between the two men he can hear her calling out to him. Her giggles fading as she realizes the game is over as he hasn’t made his presence known. 

Head turning left and right looking for the glimmer of his arm. She keeps swiping through the grass, but she can’t seem to find him. Her heart drops as a terrible feeling settles in her stomach. She calls out his name, worry dripping into the one syllable of his name. Once she finds the clearing of the field facing the back-porch panic floods her blood as she doesn’t find him lying on the grass like she has countless times before. Oh no. Oh no.

“You can say goodbye to her.”

That would kill him.

It’s either explain to her the world was at the brink of a some clusterfuck war he isn’t even aware of, leave her with the knowledge of what he’s needed for. Or let her believe he’s lost his mind again and vanish. 

She sprints up the wooden steps of the back porch yelling his name as she runs from room to room, up the stairs and even in checking in the attic. Finally, she runs down to the front porch.

The fact that an aircraft and Captain America are in her front yard doesn’t faze her. Because there, in the middle of the driveway is James. A single everlasting flower in his hands. She can’t let herself feel relief, and a worried smile makes its way to her face. 

“James?” she can’t help the quiver in her voice, and she sees him wince at it.

She walks down the porch steps, the wind and gravel crunching beneath her feet the only sounds that seem to currently exist in the seconds that it takes for her to get to him.

“Doll, I need to go,” he doesn’t beat around the bush, has to say it straight. Has to let her know that he might not make it back.

She thought she had more time, he knows this. He sees the gleam of tears flood her eyes, before he’s drawn to the tremble in her bottom lip when she says, “What do you mean? You don’t have to go. You can stay here with me, with _us._ ”

He doesn’t miss the way that her hand rests against her stomach. Doesn’t wait a second to wrap his arms around her either when her eyes answer his question. 

The tension in the air diffuses and their laughter gets carried in the wind as he twirls her around, “You’re kidding doll. Please tell me you’re not playing.” 

“I’m two weeks late. I was going to wait to tell you, but I think now is good too,” she says with a small smile. She still isn’t aware about what’s going on, she’s not getting her hopes up. 

His hands slid down to her waist, hers coming up to cradle his face and their foreheads meet as they let the moment settle around them. 

“I wouldn’t be leaving you if it wasn’t important. I need to keep you safe and I can’t do that if I stay.”

A tear slips down her cheek when she closes her eyes and says softly, “Okay. Just come back to us.”

“I will.” 

He hears a throat clear from behind him and knows he doesn’t have time to explain much to her. A rush of panic floods him, it’s like he can physically feel his time with her running out, “I don’t have time to explain, I’m not sure what’s happening but Steve wouldn’t come for me if it wasn’t crucial.” 

She nods her head in understanding and she wants to scream how unfair this is but blurts out, “I love you,” instead. 

“I love you.”

With one last fleeting kiss Bucky walks up the ramp of the aircraft Steve arrived in and that’s that. 

He’s gone. 

She stares off into the direction that the aircraft takes off in. Willing with her entire being that it turns back around and drops off her James. 

Her quiet sniffles turn into sobs that her own mind can’t even register are hers. She falls to her knees, there in the middle of the driveway. Staring down at the empty sky for what seems like hours until the sun begins to die down. 

The heat of the day replaced by the chilly wind. There, she loses hope that he will walk up the road with the easy smile that was just beginning to come back easier every time. She’d hopes that wherever he’s being taken he remembers her. Like the dried everlasting flower in her hand, a memory frozen in time _forever_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy this. It's been my baby for quite a while and I already have an idea for a short, second part to this. Thanks again to Vi for coming up with this challenge!

**Author's Note:**

> [~tumblr~](https://riptideniall.tumblr.com)


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